


Putting The Damage On

by henchgirl



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst?, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Gen, slightly purple, you don't just steal somebody's wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6240424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henchgirl/pseuds/henchgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode Tag to S01E06. Even Lucifer can't keep standing on the balcony glaring prettily ALL night long. This is after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Putting The Damage On

**Author's Note:**

> Those last two scenes would not leave me alone, so I had to add something. I haven't written in ages, and I couldn't make myself watch the next episode until after I'd finished this. I'm telling you so you know how I've deprived myself and what suffering I have gone through. :P

Lucifer is shaking.

Mazikeen can see the shivers skittering up and down his back like metal spiders, around the emptiness of the scars he asked her to give him.  
She can't tell if it's because he's angry (he is, oh, he is – hellfire burning and she hopes it explodes - _beautiful_ ) or if he's in shock, or possibly, stranger than strange, if he's cold. Since he can bleed now, who knows what other weird mortal things his body can do?

”Someone's got them, Mazikeen,” he says, growling and choking on it at the same time. ”Someone's got my wings.”

He is hers to watch over. Hers to guard. The Devil thrives on chaos and change, but her place is immutable.  
”We will find them,” she swears. ”We will find them, and whoever stole what is yours will pay it back a thousandfold.”

She is going to hurt them, these thieves. And this time, he is not going to let his pet human make him stop her. Not going to defer to the limits of human morality, not cater to minds incapable and unwilling to comprehend the painfully bright darkness of the Morningstar. This time, he won't be playing.  
His eyes could set the streets on fire. She wants to see it happen.

Her hand settles lightly on his shoulder, his shiver-spiders tickling her palm. He stumbles slightly when he turns, off balance; compensating for a weight that isn't there. He hasn't done that since just after...after.

He hadn't made a sound as she cut them off. Efficient as always, was Mazikeen. Not aiming to torture, not then. Not him. Quick and sure. Sometimes she still feels the soft-sharp-bright feathers twitching under her hands. It must have hurt beyond comprehension. She's never asked. Never asked if it _still_ hurts. But it must, it must, or he wouldn't look the way he does now.

As if the essence of him is too large for his body alone to contain it, and he's cracking from the inside like a chrysalis.

”Mazikeen,” says Lucifer, and it's a warning and it's a demand. Flames flicker in his eyes now, and she doubts he is entirely aware of it. Such _rage_. Beautiful. _There_ he is.  
”They are going to pay,” she promises, soothes. It's going to be delicious. But he is still shaking, still unsteady, when she wants him wickedly focused and bright. First things first.

She leads him to the nest of tangled silk on his bed, pulls him down to drape over her like the Piéta askew. He turns in her arms, hides his face and his carefully controlled breaths against her stomach. Mazikeen lets her hands be unfamiliar, soft on his skin and in his hair. She can be patient, when the reward is worth it.

Eventually his spiders go still, leaving him languid under her fingers. Maybe even asleep. She certainly hopes so, when everything suddenly

s l o w s.

Angelic timing really sucks.  
The cold tingle-burn of holiness comes closer, but Lucifer doesn't move. Really out, then, or at least too far into himself to care.  
”Go away, Amenadiel,” she says, voice low but firm.  
”Do not presume to tell me what to do, Mazikeen.” Sanctimonious as always, the angel strides into the bedroom, only to come to an abrupt stop. Angelic shock smells like ozone.

Ah. He hasn't seen before, has he? Not the reality of it. The evidence. Falling is such an _abstract_ notion to those up above. Clear cut, white and black.  
He swallows, a weirdly human gesture for him (is it _growing_ on you, Amenadiel, humanity?) and his gunmetal wings twitch. Is he imagining his own back, bare? (Could you bear it even half as well as he, Amenadiel?)  
He can't seem to look away. Balloon of bluster thoroughly popped.  
”Take a picture, it'll last longer,” says Mazikeen, when the silence starts to go stale.  
Amenadiel blinks. Reaches out as if to touch, then, wiser than she thought, doesn't.

Mazikeen smiles, sweet as sin. When Lucifer wakes, all hell will break loose.


End file.
